Il Bestione (The Golden Door Duet Book 2)
Page 33
The Volstead Act, in effect now for almost a year, had profoundly changed Paolo’s business plan and made a new avenue that looked like it would become their most lucrative work. People wanted their booze, and Prohibition had made it extremely profitable to provide it.
In fact, Paolo’s business, and his power, had grown too much. He had too much influence, too much notice. Though he’d once wanted all the power and wealth he could claim, he was wiser now and more experienced. He understood that there came a point where a high profile had diminishing returns.
His work here in the little town known as Shoreville was almost entirely legitimate, except for what came through the port he controlled. But his work beyond this sleepy little town was best done in the dark. Renown brought a bright light, and Paolo had gained considerable renown.
Though his success had caused a few difficulties he hadn’t foreseen, there was a lasting satisfaction in the knowledge that he hadn’t needed to fit in with the denizens of 5th Avenue to accomplish it.
In the new year, he planned to make some substantial changes. For one thing, he meant to sell a significant portion his Manhattan holdings to Aldo outright. They’d had a few preliminary discussions already. Aldo had been acting as don in Manhattan since Paolo had taken his family to the fresher air and brighter sun of Long Island. It was time his friend had the full power to match the work he did.
Paolo had achieved all his goals and more. He had a life beyond his dreams. Now he was working for his children and the legacy he might leave them. He wanted them to have all they needed to reach their dreams far more easily than he’d had to fight for his.
For them, because they had been born Americans, Paolo was an American citizen now. He’d once insisted he never would seek citizenship here, but he’d quickly learned how completely one’s own child could revise one’s worldview.
With the exception of Dario’s mother, the entire family were now citizens—Dario, Caterina, Mirabella, and Luciano, too. And they had all voted in the most recent election. Even Caterina and Mirabella. Women’s suffrage was the law of the land now.
That fight would have happened beneath his own interest, except that he’d married a woman like Mirabella. Even before she was a citizen, she had picked up that banner. He hadn’t been surprised; his woman was full of opinions and happy to fight for them, and he was proud of her for it. But they had fought each other over it once or twice, when he’d been concerned that her politics would draw unwanted attention to his business.
They’d found a solution, in which Mirabella did want she wanted, and Paolo paid bigger bribes to keep legal and government men uninterested in his work. He didn’t mind. His woman was happy, and he could afford to pay more for the silence of people who might want to tell him to control her. Paolo had no desire to control her. What beast would clip such beautiful wings?
“What can I carry?” he asked as he reached their car. “Hello, Dario.”
His brother-in-law shifted his burden and took Paolo’s offered hand. “Paolo. Good to see you. Are the children already destroying the tree and gifts?”
“Of course. They take their work seriously.”
Both men laughed.
“Paolo! Buon Natale!” His sister set her packages down and lifted her arms. Paolo pulled her close and kissed her cheek.
“Buon Natale, little sister. I love you.”
“I love you so!” She leaned back and beamed up at him. La Bellezza indeed.
“Let me carry for you,” he said, releasing her. As he picked up her stack of wrapped gifts—the children of this family were certainly spoiled—he smiled at Dario’s mother. “Good morning, Viola.”
“Buongiorno, bell’uomo. Buon Natale.”
Dario’s mother had lived in American more than twenty years, but she had little interest in speaking English and none at all becoming a citizen. She lived here because her family did. Dario’s uncle had died of the Spanish Flu two years ago, but now there were grandchildren to spoil, so Viola was as rooted in America as it was possible to be. But she still resisted Americanness.
Paolo thought his own mother would have been much the same, had she lived to make it to these shores.
She had not. She hadn’t lived to see America, or to be betrayed by it, or to survive that betrayal and stand tall again. She hadn’t lived to find safety or strength. She hadn’t lived to see her children find love and happiness, build families, prosper. Thrive.
Their mother hadn’t lived. Their father had slipped away. But Paolo and Caterina, they had unearthed the promise of America.
Caterina had been called The Beauty here.
Paolo was still known as The Beast.
America had named them thus, had shaped them into forms that suited the names. The Beauty, fragile and fair, too delicate for this world. The Beast, feral and fierce, too savage for polite company.
But they had grown beyond those forms and become whole.
America itself was the true Beauty, and the Beast, too. Promise and pain. Hope and despair. Trust and betrayal.
It was life, simple and complex, strange and familiar. And they had learned to live it well.
That was the true strength of the immigrant: to forge a whole life between the myth and the truth of a new world.
With a chorus of childish shouts and laughs from the house at his back, Paolo smiled at his family. “Come, let’s go in and get warm. Maybe the children have left some gifts intact.”
Laughing together, they all went into Paolo and Mirabella’s house by the sea.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Susan Fanetti is a Midwestern native transplanted to Northern California, where she lives with her husband, youngest son, and assorted cats.
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